


Before We Fall, Until We Fly

by JensenAckles13



Series: One Part Insanity, Two Parts Chaos [5]
Category: Avengers, Frostiron - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Ficlet, It's all angst, Loki's Just Tired, M/M, Sadness, There's A Bit Of Smut, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:12:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenAckles13/pseuds/JensenAckles13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all have that one thing.<br/>Whether it’s a stuffed animal or a necklace, we have it.<br/>Maybe it’ll get thrown into the closet or shoved into the bottom of a drawer, but we still have it. Maybe it’s sitting on our bookshelf, collecting dust.<br/>One day, we’ll be searching for a book or that Black Sabbath tee shirt that we love, and there it will be and everything that came with it and every reason we saved it will come back and we’ll want it with us.<br/>A memory of something we lost.<br/>Whatever it is, we can’t dream of giving it up because it would be like giving that memory up; ridding of the reason we kept it in the first place.<br/>Tony Stark is no exception to this.<br/>But he keeps his above the fireplace so he can see it when he drinks himself into a stupor on the couch when he can’t bring himself to go to his bedroom.<br/>So he can remember why he was drinking in the first place.<br/>So that when the world is trying it’s damndest to kill him, he’ll remember why he should be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before We Fall, Until We Fly

_“Mourning is not forgetting…It is an undoing. Ever minute tie has to be untied and something_   
_permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the dust.”_   
_-Margery Allingham_

We all have that one thing.  
Whether it’s a stuffed animal or a necklace, we have it.  
It’s something we’ve kept since we first got it; it could’ve been given to us by our mother’s or we could’ve found it on the side of the road, but it holds some value even though we don’t know why.  
Maybe it’ll get thrown into the closet or shoved into the bottom of a drawer, but we still have it. Maybe it’s sitting on our bookshelf, collecting dust.  
One day, we’ll be searching for a book or that _Black Sabbath_ tee shirt that we love, and there it will be and everything that came with it and every reason we saved it will come back and we’ll want it with us.  
A token.  
A memory of something we lost.  
Maybe it’s a tee shirt or a bracelet or an old book.

Maybe it’s a wilted white rose, stained red.

Whatever it is, we can’t dream of giving it up because it would be like giving that memory up; ridding of the reason we kept it in the first place.

Tony Stark is no exception to this.  
But he keeps his above the fireplace so he can see it when he drinks himself into a stupor on the couch when he can’t bring himself to go to his bedroom.  
So he can remember why he was drinking in the first place.  
So he has a reason to.  
So that when the world is trying it’s damndest to kill him, he’ll remember why he should be dead.

*

When the world ended, Tony didn’t notice until it had already happened.  
A slow slip into madness until he couldn’t tell where it had ended or where it had began.  
Both happened in the same way; with Loki, because of Loki, for Loki.  
It began with him and it ended with him.  
The night he came and the night he left.

Tony was sitting in the penthouse alone; he’d run everyone off that night, making sure they knew he needed to be alone.  
Pepper had left him a year ago today.  
They’d been engaged.  
She’d broken it off.  
He pretended it didn’t bother him even though he drank until he forgot the reason he was pretending.  
He was halfway through a bottle of Scotch when he noticed the god, standing out on the balcony, the wind swaying his hair.  
He was nothing more than a silhouette against the moonlight; a black shadow hiding in the white light.    
The door opened soundlessly, but Loki heard anyways.

“I only came for the drink you offered, Stark, and nothing more.”

Tony said nothing as he approached and held out his glass, the neck of the bottle held in his other hand.  
Loki took the bottle instead.  
Tony pretended he hadn’t wanted it anyways.

“Your world is ending, Anthony Stark, and here you stand, sharing a drink with the very one who tried to destroy it in the first place.” The god glanced at him; his eyes looked black in the shadowed light.

“I like bad ideas,” Tony replied, taking the bottle from the god’s long fingers and taking a long pull from it before handing it back. “Seems we have something in common after all.”  
The smile Loki gave him was gone as fast as it had come.

“More than you would think,” is all the god said.  
They didn’t speak after that.

Loki watched the city and Tony watched Loki.

Tony wished he couldn’t see him.  
Wished he couldn’t see the defeated curve of his shoulders, the abandoned downward tilt of his head, the clench of his fingers around the neck of the bottle; wished he couldn’t see the way he dreaded that he had been unable to stop the end even though it didn’t seem to have happened at all.

“Let’s go inside,” Tony said after a length of silence, only interrupted by the sounds of cars rushing through the city and the rushing of the wind.  
Loki didn’t protest, didn’t even try to pull away, when Tony took his free hand and pulled him inside.

“Don’t,” Loki said softly as Tony absently brushed his fingers across the god’s knuckles.

“Don’t what?” Tony asked, turning his head towards Loki as he led him to the bar.  
The god looked beautiful in the light; his raven hair hung over his shoulders in waves, his skin ivory and soft, the movement of his bones beneath his skin as he pulled his hand back and clenched his fist; his eyes broken shards of blazing emerald.

“Touch me. I haven’t…no one has in hundreds of years…” the sad voice trailed off and Tony looked up from the god’s pale hand, back to his old, tired eyes.

“Is it because you didn’t let them?” Tony asked quietly; the silence that followed was more than enough of an answer. “Let me…” he trailed off, reaching for the god’s hand again and taking it in his own, moving his calloused fingertips across Loki’s smooth skin, feeling the catch and pull of his own against the god’s; it was delicious, mesmerizing, the way his body yearned to touch, to pull, to feel, to mark, to protect. How it wanted to pull the broken god close and whisper sweet nothings in his ear until he fell asleep. How it wanted to ravish the god where he stood and pretend it was nothing more than a one night stand when they both knew it was anything but. How it ached to rid of their clothes and press up against him, all hot skin and cool lips, how it wanted to mold to him like they both knew it would.  
Or maybe that was just Tony.

But he knew it wasn’t when the god’s fingers moved within his own, splaying and closing until their fingers were entwined within each other’s, locked in embrace where their bodies weren’t; where they couldn’t find it in themselves to be yet longed so desperately for it.  
There was a pull between them, and Tony felt himself drawn to the god like he hadn’t ever been before; felt himself move closer even though he never told himself to, saw Loki’s eyes dart between their hands and Tony’s face as he took a step forward too.  
Saw the way his shattered emerald eyes flitted to his lips.

Tony closed the last six inches of space between them and kissed the god, pressing their lips together and slipping his tongue along the seam of Loki’s lips, seeking entrance which the god willingly gave, touching when he’d wanted so badly. Their bodies pressed closer than they should’ve been able as all air between them evaporated into shared body heat and their breaths mingled as Tony released Loki’s lips, pulling the god closer even though they could already feel each other’s heartbeats. Tony sought out that long, pale column of throat and his mouth left bruises in its wake, marking every inch he’d ever wanted. Tony held the god as he did so, his arms wound around him and making him forget why he’d come for the drink in the first place, protecting in the only place he could.

He didn’t realize Loki had teleported them to the bedroom until his back touched the bed.  
Clothes were discarded and bodies molded together like they were meant to. Cool skin seared hot and lips clashed in a fight of dominance and forgiveness. The room was filled with the sound of harsh breathing and the sharp slap of skin against skin. Hands roamed; mapped and memorized as if this first time would also be their last. Chocolate eyes closed while emerald opened, both for the same reason; to burn into their memories what was happening, the sensations and sights, to create something neither of them would ever forget.

Release burned hot through their bodies and they collapsed together, pretending they hadn’t just broken the bed; pretending this wasn’t their first night together; pretending it wasn’t their last.

Loki rolled onto his side and sat, bringing Tony up with him.

“Promise me something,” the god said, a small dagger appearing in his hand as he took Tony’s hand and slashed cleanly across the meat of his palm; the pain was precise, intense and sudden before it faded into a dull ache.  
Tony was surprised he could still feel anything at all.  
Loki repeated the gesture with his own palm and clasped their bloodied hands together, mingling it until they were not two separate beings but one, bonded even though they couldn’t ever be together.

“Promise me,” Loki continued. “That you won’t ever come looking for me. I will be gone, and you will be too, some day.”

Tony gazed at the god for a long moment. He couldn’t; didn’t want to, but had to.  
Felt his chest ache and his eyes burn as he nodded and whispered “I promise” even though he wished he didn’t have to promise anything but knew he had no choice.

Loki nodded, not saying anything else as he laid back down, his back to Tony. Tony moved closer and wrapped his arms around the god’s waist and pressed against his back, pretended not to feel the way the god relaxed and sank against him as if he were a breath of air and the god was drowning.  
Perhaps they both were.

But then none of that mattered because Tony was falling asleep and forgetting every reason he’d ever wanted to cry.

*

He woke alone.  
Loki was nowhere in sight, but his blood still crusted Tony’s palm, mixed with his own.  
A single white rose sat on the pillow where Loki’s head had been, the petals stained red from where someone had run gentle, blood coated fingers across it.  
A blood promise.

*

Tony went to Malibu alone.  
He shut contact off from everyone, including the Avengers and SHIELD and whoever the hell else would need him to do things he couldn’t do.  
Loki never came back.  
The end came.  
The earth shuddered and buildings collapsed.  
Stars fell from the sky and tainted the world with forgotten and remembered souls.  
Everyone who ever had a chance tried to save the world from something they had no chance of controlling.

Tony drank.

He sat alone on his couch in his favorite _Black Sabbath_ tee shirt and his jeans.  
The fire roared in the fireplace, warm and comforting despite the hollow emptiness that screamed inside him.

An empty bottle of Scotch sat above the fireplace, fingerprints smudged around the neck of it. 

His fist closed around the stem of the rose, sharp thorns biting into his skin and staining the green with his blood.  
His and Loki’s, mixed and mingled.  
A blood promise.

And still, Tony drank. 

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, it's all angst, but I'm proud of my angst.  
> If there's any mistakes, I'm sorry; I'm tired and my eyes burn.  
> Reviews are gold. They fuel my mind. So do Kudos


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